


In the Dead of Night

by chanderson



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Era, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, References to Depression, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 19:03:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10792863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chanderson/pseuds/chanderson
Summary: During the day, the general is all hard edges and furrowed brows. His expression stays stern and commanding; his posture is rigid. He seems to loom larger than life in whatever room he occupies. But late at night, Washington seems softer. He is less the myth and more the man. Vulnerable is a word Alex has come to use to describe him.





	In the Dead of Night

**Author's Note:**

> I don't normally write canon-era stuff, but then this happened. This isn't written in any specific time/place; it's just set sometime during the war. Enjoy!

Alex watches Washington closely when the general doesn’t think anyone is looking. Late at night, when the other aides are already in bed, Alex watches the way the general’s shoulders slump forlornly as he cradles his head in his hands. Alex sees the candle light flicker across the mournful, haunted look on his handsome face. It’s Alex’s favorite part of staying up later than the others. He feels like it’s his secret, this side of Washington that no one else is permitted to observe. 

During the day, the general is all hard edges and furrowed brows. His expression stays stern and commanding; his posture is rigid. He seems to loom larger than life in whatever room he occupies. But late at night, Washington seems softer. He is less the myth and more the man. Vulnerable is a word Alex has come to use to describe him.

On these nights, Alex wishes to wrap Washington in his arms and soothe him, crooning sweet words into his ear to help him forget his troubles. Alex imagines kissing every inch of the general’s beautiful skin, worshipping and loving him like he deserves. 

One particularly cold, pitch-black night, Alex is wrapped in a blanket, writing diligently at his desk. The fingers holding his quill feel frozen, but he continues to write feverishly. His neck is cramped from hunching over the paper, but he needs to finish this correspondence before morning. It’s of utmost concern that he write to Congress as their supplies continue to dwindle. Tonight, he is less occupied with watching Washington and more occupied with his work. 

Alex only looks up when he hears Washington moving, his chair scraping over the floor. 

“Your Excellency?” Alex asks as Washington walks over. “Do you need something, Sir?” Alex moves to stand, but Washington waves him to be at ease. 

Washington gives Alex a long look as if he’s sizing him up, and Alex fights the urge to look away from his piercing gaze. 

“Would you have a drink with me, Alexander?” Washington finally asks, his voice softer than Alex has ever heard it. Alex frowns and shifts his weight nervously, chewing on his lip. 

“Of course, Sir,” Alex says slowly, unsure of what Washington wants from him. Washington nods and waits as Alex tidies up his work desk. 

Alex has only ever been in Washington’s private bedroom a few times when he needed to dictate something late at night. It is equal parts intriguing and nerve wracking. 

Alex stands at erect attention, and Washington sighs. 

“Alexander, you can relax, my boy,” he says. Alex nods and sits at the table, hoping he doesn’t look too uncomfortable. Washington pours them each a glass of whiskey, and Alex watches in fascination as Washington tips his back, draining half the glass before Alex even takes a sip. 

“Thank you, Sir,” Alex says as he picks up his glass and tastes it. The whiskey is much nicer than anything Alex usually drinks and it goes down smoothly. Washington nods and finishes his glass. He promptly refills it. 

They sit in a slightly uncomfortable silence for several minutes as both men drink, Washington downing his drink at a rapid, almost frantic speed. Alex spends the time discreetly studying Washington. He seems more sad than usual, and Alex is struck with the desire to touch Washington, to cradle his cheek or hold him close. Alex shakes his head and tries to dispel the thoughts, thoughts he’s had many times before.

Washington refills his glass again, and Alex frowns. “Sir,” he says slowly, not wanting to overstep. “Permission to speak freely?” 

“When have you ever asked permission to speak freely before, Hamilton?” Washington says, the ghost of a teasing smile on his lips. Alex blushes despite himself and covers it up by taking a hearty sip of his whiskey. 

“Well, Sir, I was just wondering,” Alex says awkwardly, suddenly tongue tied. Washington’s eyebrows are furrowed and he’s watching Alex closely. 

“Yes?” he prompts. 

“Are you okay, Sir? You seem upset, or unwell… or both,” Alex says, quickly taking another sip of his drink. Washington wordlessly refills Alex’s glass for him and purses his lips. He pours himself a fresh drink and finishes it in one long sip, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. 

“I’m worried we’re going to lose,” Washington says. His words are starting to slur, and Alex realizes that the general is already drunk. 

“Sir, no,” Alex says immediately. “We’re not going to lose.” Washington only laughs and looks down at his now empty glass. 

“I’m so tired, Alexander.” Washington looks at Alex and the look in his eyes is filled with a raw pain that makes Alex’s chest ache. He’s again hit with the need to touch Washington, anything to comfort the broken man sitting in front of him.

“Are you not sleeping well, Sir?” Alex asks. 

“I haven’t slept well in a long time, son,” Washington slurs, slumping forward to lean on his elbows. “War has a funny way of haunting a man at night. I lie awake thinking of all of the men I have failed. They come to me in my dreams, and I’m forced to look into their faces. It makes nights very unpleasant.” Washington stares at the table and fiddles with his glass, pushing it across the dark wooden surface. “But it is not just that,” he continues. “I am tired of it all. Tired of the killing, the death, the hunger, the pain. It is draining having to be in charge of all these poor, dying men. I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

Alex swallows and looks away, slightly embarrassed by Washington’s blunt honesty. 

“I’m sorry, Sir,” he says lamely. Washington shrugs and pours himself another drink. 

“Do you think I’ve failed, Alexander?” 

“No, Sir, of course not,” Alex says defensively. “You are one of the greatest men I know.” 

Washington laughs harshly, a strangled bark of a laugh that sounds nothing like the melodic, joyful laugh Alex has occasionally heard from his general before.

“I am not a great man, Alexander,” Washington says. He sways in his seat and has to grab onto the edge of the table to steady himself. “I am not a great man at all. Not even close. Maybe Congress is right to replace me as Commander-in-Chief.” 

“With who?” Alex asks angrily, unable to stop himself. “Charles Lee?” Alex shakes his head and clenches his fists. “You are the only man capable of leading us to victory. Charles Lee is half the man you are, Sir. You must know that.”

“I do not feel like a great man, Alexander. It is a burden on me that I must pretend to be one. I’ve never been very good at pretending.” 

Alex feels warm and loose from the alcohol, and Washington looks so forlorn, so beaten down, that Alex can’t help himself anymore. He reaches over and very gently touches the back of the general’s hand with his fingers.

“You are a great man to me, Sir. I admire you greatly.” 

Washington’s breath hitches and he shakes his head. “You call this a great man?” Washington motions to himself and the now empty bottle of whiskey sitting in the middle of the table. “This is not what a great man would be doing. A great man would be working hard. Instead I am getting drunk and complaining to a sweet, hot headed boy who has to pretend to like me to make me feel better. It is pathetic. Feeling sorry for oneself is a despicable trait, yet here I am.” 

Alex frantically reaches over and locks his fingers around one of Washington’s wrists. “I am not pretending to like you, Sir. I care for you greatly,” Alex says, his own words now slurred by drink. “You are the most wonderful man I know. I do not… It doesn’t matter to me that you get into these melancholy moods. I observe them all the time, Sir. You do not have to pretend to be someone you are not with me.” 

“And here I thought I was so good at hiding away my despondence,” Washington says ruefully. To Alex’s surprise, he doesn’t pull his hand away. 

“You are quite good at it during the day, Sir. It’s only at night, when it is just me and you, that you start to show your true feelings. I actually cherish that time, Sir. I like being able to see you in that way.”

Washington cocks his head and looks at Alex, his expression unreadable. 

“Is it hot in here to you?” he suddenly asks. He stands unsteadily and begins to undress, unceremoniously stripping out of his uniform. Alex tries to avert his eyes, but Washington is standing in only his thin shirt, and Alex wishes he would take it off.

“Sir, would you like me to leave?” Alex asks softly, trying to tear his eyes away. 

“Do you want to leave?” Washington sways and stumbles over to his bed. He collapses down onto it and sits on the edge, resting his elbows on his knees. 

“No, Sir.”

Washington nods and rubs his eyes. “Did you know that my first command ended in a massacre? I led my men straight to their death,” he says, looking up at Alex. “Every single one of them, my boy.”

Alex swallows and shifts his weight in his chair. “I’m sorry, Sir,” he says for a lack of anything better to say. 

“And now I’m going to lose this war and we will all be hanged. It will have all been for nothing, and the blame will be all mine. I will deserve to be hanged.”

“Sir!” Alex says, standing from his chair. “Please, Sir, you can’t say such things. You’re not going to lose this war. I believe in you.”

“Why?” Washington looks at Alex and his eyes are misty. “My men are dying, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do, Alexander.” 

Alex stands up and approaches the general slowly. He sits next to him, and Washington’s shoulder is warm where it touches Alex’s. 

“Because I know that you are a good, brave man with a good heart. I know you’ll find the answer. You’ll lead us to victory. I can feel it.” Alex puts his hand on Washington’s bare knee, emboldened by the thick haze of alcohol muddling his brain. “You are wonderful, Sir. I wish you would see that,” Alex whispers. 

Washington turns to look at Alex and his eyes are dark, his pupils blown. They’re sitting so closely that Alex can feel the general’s breath on his mouth, warm and scented with whiskey. Washington smells like a mixture of sweat and something sharp and tangy.

When Washington kisses him, he tastes like whiskey and his lips are surprisingly soft. Alex reaches up to cup the general’s face, pulling him closer. Alex wants to meld them together, wants to wrap Washington in his embrace and chase away the demons that plague his conscious. 

The kiss is heated, full of tongue and teeth. Washington is panting into Alex’s mouth, and Alex can’t stop himself from whimpering. When they pull apart, they both sit there sucking in deep breaths. Washington’s lips are red and swollen, and saliva shines on his chin. 

“You are so beautiful, Alexander. I look at you and everything seems a little less bleak. I don’t know what I would do without you, my boy.” 

“Sir—”

“ _George_.” 

“George… All I’ve wanted is to ease your pain and take some of your burdens. I watch you at work and you seem so alone. It makes me ache for you.” Alex begins to pepper the general's jaw with soft kisses. "You carry the weight of the world on your shoulders; you should not have to suffer that alone." Alex  kisses the corner of Washington’s mouth, a sweet, simple kiss. “Will you allow me to ease some of your burdens? Or will you forget this once we are sobered up tomorrow?” 

“I do not wish to forget it,” Washington says softly. 

Alex nods and kisses the general again. “Good. Neither do I.” Alex sighs and kisses Washington's shoulder. "You should never doubt yourself, George," he croons. "You should believe in yourself like I believe in you. You are truly the most wonderful man I know." Alex nuzzles Washington's shoulder, wishing he could find the words to express the depth of his feelings for the general in his drunken state.

Washington is about to reply to Alex when he clamps his mouth shut and shudders, his face going pale. “Sir—George?” Alex asks, brow wrinkling in confusion. The room is spinning in steady circles, and it’s becoming hard to focus. 

Washington suddenly surges forward and stumbles over to the wash basin. Alex winces as he vomits, and he turns his head to offer the general some semblance of privacy.

When Washington finishes, he stumbles back to the bed and collapses down. There is a thin sheen of sweat on his face, and Alex can feel him trembling. 

“Are you okay?” Alex asks softly. He hesitantly reaches over and runs his hand up and down Washington’s back. Washington shivers and shakes his head. 

“I just vomited in my wash basin,” he says, a hint of disbelief coloring his tone. 

“Yes you did,” Alex replies. “Do you feel better?” 

“Not particularly.” Washington pulls himself further onto the bed and curls up on his side, letting his eyes droop closed. “Actually I feel kind of awful.”

Alex can’t help himself and he laughs, throwing his head back. Washington glares at him, but there is a small smile tugging at his lips. 

“You should drink some water. I don’t want you feeling sick tomorrow.” Alex gets up and stumbles to the pitcher of water. He carefully pours Washington a glass, trying not to drop it as he drunkenly makes his way back to the bed. He prods Washington to sit up and carefully hands him the glass. 

Washington takes a few small sips before shaking his head and handing it back to Alex. “That’s all for now.”

Alex takes the water and sets it down on the small side table. Washington curls back up in the bed, pressing his face into one of the pillows. 

“I suppose I’ll see you in the morning then,” Alex says uncertainly, closing his eyes against the continuous spinning. 

“Stay,” Washington slurs. “You should stay.” 

“Oh, I don’t know, Sir—”

“I told you to call me George, and I want you to stay. Please.”

Alex looks down at the general’s eager face, his cheeks flushed from drink and his eyes half closed with exhaustion. 

“Of course. I’d love to.” 

Alex makes quick work of undressing, holding onto the bedpost so he doesn’t fall over. Once he’s down to his shirt, he climbs into the bed next to Washington. 

Washington moves to wrap his arms around Alex, but Alex rolls over to face him and holds his hand up. 

“I’d like to… Can I hold you?” Alex flushes and glances away, but Washington nods and rolls over, scooting back against Alex. Alex wraps his arms around Washington, feeling the solid bulk of his muscled torso. 

Alex falls asleep to the rhythmic in-and-out of Washington’s breathing. For the first time in a long while, the general sleeps peacefully through the night. 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this instead of studying or working on the other fic I'm writing for one of my verses. Oops. Comments are always appreciated!


End file.
